


we're meant for the fire, but we keep rising up

by openended



Series: Olivia Shepard [16]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Bakery and Coffee Shop, Gen, Growing Up, Mother-Daughter Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2014-11-28
Packaged: 2018-02-27 07:10:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2683880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/openended/pseuds/openended
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shepard and her mom, through the years, and sometimes through someone else's eyes. (Or, how I made a bakery au inside my Shepard's canon)</p>
            </blockquote>





	we're meant for the fire, but we keep rising up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theherocomplex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theherocomplex/gifts).



Hannah hoists her daughter, all of three years old, into the high chair. She kisses Olivia’s forehead and the girl giggles.

"Please stay put," she requests. At least Olivia’s energy doesn’t appear to come from the same branch of destruction as her brother’s did at her age.

Thunder rolls in the distance, heralding the summer rainstorm they so desperately need. She looks out the window over the sink: dark clouds gather beyond the hills as the colony works in tandem to bring in animals and tie down the tarps protecting brand new gardens from the violent wind. She stares long enough to spy Mark, just now old enough to help out, and Charles heading to the neighbors to help with their cows.

Hannah starts to work, strong swift hands slicing the fresh peaches into a bowl, aware of her daughter’s eyes on her. As it starts to rain, a cool breeze blowing through the open windows, she brings out the dough from the refrigerator: thin, fragile sheets that haven’t broken under her touch in years.

The thunder grows louder and Olivia starts to fidget.

"Hey," Hannah says, and reaches across the counter to brush a flour-covered finger against her daughter’s nose. "It’s just rain."

* * *

Olivia sits at the counter, shoulders slumped. She kicks her legs and if her foot hits the cabinets, well. At least she’s barefoot and won’t leave a mark. It’s hot in the house in winter, even more so for her mother having the oven on. But her room’s freezing, courtesy of a window she managed to break open while trying to fix it, and the kitchen’s the calmest place in the house right now.

An actual paper book lies in front of her, open to the fairy tale she’s meant to be reading for school. She rubs at her eyes until she sees stars, but the words still don’t make sense. Mark told her all she had to do was try harder, which only made the words scramble and slide right off the page.

She kicks the cabinet especially hard. Dad told her to be patient with herself, but kicking the cabinet seems like a better plan.

The book moves away from her and she looks up in time to see her mother close the book and set it aside. She opens her mouth to protest - she’s _supposed_ to be reading that, she _needs_ to learn it, all the other kids will know it and she’s already hearing whispers behind her back about the girl who can’t read - but Mom shakes her head.

"Enough for right now," she says quietly. "Want to help?" she gestures to the flour and cold butter on the counter, next to the bowl of apples: pie.

Olivia nods and slides off her chair. Before she can wash her hands, Mom pulls her in for a tight hug.

"I love you," she whispers, and kisses the top of Olivia’s head.

* * *

The first batch of cookies Hannah makes in their tiny apartment on the Citadel tastes like ash.

Olivia eats them anyway.

* * *

Olivia rests her head in her hands and presses the heel of her palms into her eyes. She has the math and science sections nailed down, has had them nailed for weeks, but everything else swims across the page.

The University of Serrice has the best stellar cartography program in the galaxy, but only if she can pass her triple-Es first.

Tears prick at her eyes and she presses her hands tighter, until she sees stars. Crying won’t fix that she has to pass this exam before the asari will even consider her application to their university system. Crying won’t fix her brain. And crying definitely won’t fix that there’s one more history lesson, plus a chemistry lab report and studying for her Italian test, between her and what little sleep she can steal before she has to get up for school.

She takes a deep breath. “Count of ten, and it’s back to work,” she says out loud.

But ten passes, and twenty, and then she loses count and gives in to the tears.

That’s how her mother finds her an hour later when she gets home from the restaurant. “Hey,” she whispers, and gently rubs Olivia’s back. She reaches out with her other hand and shuts down the computer, and turns off Olivia’s desk lamp.

"I’m fine," Olivia protests with a sniffle, feeling the exact opposite. She wipes at her cheeks. "I have more work to do tonight."

"No," Hannah says softly and shakes her head. "You’re going to sleep tonight. And you’ll be sick tomorrow."

Olivia looks at the stack of work on her desk and the piles that have accumulated on the floor, and then looks over her shoulder at her bed. She made it two days ago when she did her laundry; the pillows are still perfectly in place.

Her mother may not be able to fix that she has to pass this exam before her application is even considered for Serrice. And her mother may not be able to fix her brain. And her mother definitely can’t fix that she’ll still have to finish that chemistry lab report and she’ll have to stay late to make up her test.

But in that moment, her mother comes very very close to fixing _everything_.

"Come on," Hannah says, gently leading Olivia out of her chair and down the hall to the kitchen. "I brought home leftover cake."

"What kind?"

"Triple chocolate."

Olivia manages half of a laugh. “You expect me to sleep after a slice of _that_?”

Hannah peers around the open cabinet door. “I didn’t say you had to go to sleep _right now_.” She pulls out two plates. “There’s a new Big Brother I was going to save for this weekend, but -“

"Yes please," Olivia cuts her off.

* * *

Hannah doesn’t expect Olivia home for the opening. It’s her final year of undergrad and Olivia’s hip-deep in papers and research, and Thessia-Citadel tickets are surprisingly expensive for being only one jump. She wants Olivia there with her when she opens the door to the public for the first time, but most of their conversations lately have been Olivia talking a mile a minute about the pile of academia she’s wading through, only about a quarter of which makes any sense to Hannah; she didn’t want to add any more stress to her daughter’s shoulders, so told her about the bakery opening, said not to worry about making it, and left it at that.

She stands in the middle of the tiny bakery, its chairs flipped up onto the tables so she could clean the floor until it shone. Not a single fingerprint remains on the glass cases that line the counters. All the treats sit perfectly aligned in their rows in the display cases, lit by carefully-designed soft lighting.

Most everything is finished and already in its place, small labels printed so customers know what hides behind the smooth frosting. She has a few more things to bake in the morning and a batch of cupcakes left to frost, but it’s all written down on a checklist taped to a cabinet in the kitchen. For now, she’s calling it done.

The Lost Sheep Bakery will open tomorrow.

 _Her_ bakery will open tomorrow.

There’s a knock on the door. Hannah’s brow furrows: the sign very clearly states that tomorrow is the grand opening. She turns, and smiles like she hasn’t smiled in weeks.

Olivia waves at her from the other side of the glass door and mimes for her to let her in.

The shock and surprise on Hannah’s face must be incredible, for Olivia raises her eyebrows sky high.

"Did you really think I was going to miss this?" Olivia drops her bag inside the door and wraps her arms around Hannah’s waist.

"You’ve had so much work," she says, returning the hug.

"I was trying to get ahead," Olivia steps back and starts to really take in the bakery. "I wasn’t going to come all the way here for the week only to spend it locked in a room with star charts."

Hannah pushes her hair behind her ear. “I…” she swallows back a tidal wave of emotion, “I’m glad you’re here, Liv. Thank you.”

Olivia smiles wide. “Grand tour, please.”

* * *

Garrus watches in amazement as the two of them maneuver the giant box onto the center mess hall table. Shepard could definitely fit in the box, and he thinks Liara might be able to as well, though probably not together.

"I feel like I should tell her to scale back a bit," Shepard says, tucking her hair behind her ear. She kneels on the table and peers into the box. "The Alliance _does_ feed us.”

He looks over her shoulder. It’s packed to the brim with smaller containers, all neatly labeled with their contents. This one’s a far cry from the first crate, which Shepard carried in on her own and left on the table with a handwritten sign, _help yourself_. Everything had been gone within five minutes of the ship-wide email.

"Please don’t," Liara says, with a hint of desperation. "I still have half of the Therum report left to write."

Shepard scrunches her nose up at the box and starts unloading. With a triumphant grin, she grabs a specific container and hands it to Liara. Liara tries her best not to clutch the container to her chest, and for the most part she succeeds.

Garrus finds out later that it was full of peanut butter cookies, which singlehandedly got Liara through her first dissertation draft.

There’s another batch of _lafka_ for him, and a handwritten note Shepard reads aloud. Hannah’s taken all of his notes on the original batch - notes which he’d felt horrible writing, since she put so much effort into it, but Shepard pulled him into a vidcall with her mother and Hannah is very difficult to say _no_ to - and talked to two dextro pastry chefs, but he’s to tell her if it’s still not right.

He tries a bit of it later that night, and it’s perfect. He sends a _thank you_ to Hannah directly.

* * *

People die, she bakes. That’s what she’s always done, and there’s no reason Hannah can see to change that now just because the person who died is her daughter.

(everyone else is wearing the same look when they come into the kitchen after the memorial service: _Shepard’s mom’s gone ‘round the bend, we should probably do something about that_. She deflects their worry with a fake smile and a promise that this is how she copes with tragedy.

It’s not, not in the least - there’s alcohol somewhere, and she suspects she and Liara will make an exit before long \- but it’s something to do with her hands that isn’t punching holes through the walls or typing grief-filled accusatory emails to Steven Hackett; no one really buys her excuse, but no one calls her on it either)

She has enough help at the bakery now that it can run for a few days without her. They shut down on the day of Olivia’s memorial service, out of respect. Hannah hates it, but can’t bring herself to yell at the girls for it; they did it for her.

Olivia’s favorite treats are the dark chocolate espresso brownies, and Hannah knows she’d be pissed as hell that she couldn’t get one on the day of her funeral.

* * *

Miranda looks askance at the box of baked goods on the table. She’d known about Shepard’s mother, of course, and about the gift boxes she’d prepared for the original _Normandy_.

She just hadn’t anticipated that Hannah Shepard would do the same for a _Normandy_ flying Cerberus colors.

When she finishes her report for the Illusive Man later that night and finally hits send, she walks out into the mess for a mug of tea. She peers into the box while waiting for her tea to brew, her curiosity getting the best of her. There’s not much left, but she opens the container of chocolate chip cookies and takes one back to her office, along with her tea.

She takes a bite, and smiles. Sometimes it’s nice to be wrong.

* * *

Hannah’d panicked, like an idiot, and called Olivia the minute Zaeed left (she didn’t ask where he was going or when he’d be back; she’s learned her lesson about that from Olivia). The _Normandy_ was five hours out from a planned Citadel trip, and she busied herself by baking everything she could think of until her daughter yawned her way into the bakery’s kitchen and demanded coffee.

Olivia remains silent, sitting and sipping her coffee the entire time Hannah rambles her way through an explanation of _I love you_ s and confusion while simultaneously frosting a batch of cupcakes.

"I don’t know. It feels strange, like…like I’m betraying your father." She abruptly runs out of words. The sharp stab after Mindoir has long subsided into an occasional subtle ache, and some days she doesn’t even think of her husband. But right now, she feels like a monster; she's a terrible person for falling in love with Zaeed.

Olivia swipes her finger through the leftover frosting and contemplates the glob of chocolate before popping it into her mouth. She follows up the sweetness with a large gulp of coffee. “What did Dad want for you?”

The question throws her, and she stares at her daughter. Charles wanted a lot of things for her: a life, friends, children, love. But above all…she sighs. “To be happy.”

"And how do you feel when you’re with Zaeed?"

Hannah closes her eyes for a moment, her hand on the oven door. “Happy.”

"Well then."

She opens her eyes to find Olivia staring at her with an expression of quiet understanding, which is not at all the You’re Being Very Silly face she’d anticipated. But she supposes that if anyone understands having feelings for someone who’s not at all who you expected to love, it’d be Olivia. “How are things with Garrus?”

Olivia’s face breaks into a smile, and Hannah wants to give Garrus the universe for making her child smile like that.

* * *

Tali knows how to _eat_ Hannah Shepard’s cooking ( _keelah_ , does that woman work dextro magic), but that’s the end of her culinary skills. She doesn’t quite know what to do with herself in a human kitchen. She wouldn’t know what to do with herself in a quarian kitchen either, but she’s especially lost in a human one.

Vega’s elbow deep in some sort of bird carcass (with Cortez advising), Ashley’s wrestling with a stack of potatoes bigger than she is, Traynor’s frowning at a pile of what Tali thinks are vegetables, and Shepard is hard at work with a bowl of apples.

(Doctor Chakwas, she finds after a few minutes of searching, is leaning against a corner with Shepard’s mother, a glass of wine in both their hands; she’s half-tempted to join them)

Shepard looks up from peeling her apple, the skin coming away in one perfect curling length, and stares at the alien and robotic members of her crew standing in the middle of the kitchen, completely useless. She frowns and then waves at her mom, and points at the five of them.

Hannah stands up and points at each one as she assigns tasks. “Liara, cranberries. Garrus, help Ashley. EDI, bread. Tali, take over from Olivia. Liv, pie crust. Javik…”

Javik blinks all four eyes and tilts his head, daring the human to assign him something worthy.

"Dishes," she decides.

Shepard manages to turn her laugh into a believable cough as she hands the peeler over to Tali and demonstrates how she was slicing the apples.

 _It’s for charity_ , Shepard had said two days ago when she pitched the idea. _Refugees need food, Mom and a few other restaurants have teamed up to give them at least one hot meal a week, and it’s an Earth holiday. We can help._

Out of the ten of them, only two knew how to hold a knife in a way that wasn’t about to stab someone so Tali’s not really sure how much help they’re going to be. But Hannah’s put her drink down and started to work the butter and flour alongside her daughter, and the two women have the same set to their jaw, identical to the expression Shepard wears when she looks at a battlefield.

Tali retrains her attention on the fruit in front of her, careful to not nick her suit with the peeler. Even if they’re not any help at all, six hundred people are about to say that they were fed by the crew of the _Normandy_ , and that’s something.

* * *

Someday, Hannah will ask Olivia why she looks over her shoulder so much. She’ll also ask about the nightmares and the math, and a host of other things that have started to leave her sleepless with worry.

But today’s a good day, and so it’s not the day that she’ll ask about any of that. Today Olivia’s eyes sparkle and her leg isn’t giving her too much trouble as she stands in the prefab’s tiny kitchen and spoons out cookie dough in perfect lines across a tray. Even the rain’s stopped.

Olivia smiles and for half a moment, Hannah doesn’t see Reapers or the war (or the Blitz or Alchera or Mindoir) in her daughter’s face. She wishes it was more than half a moment, and the half moment quickly turns into a whole moment and the ghosts return.

Hannah waits for Olivia to get the cookies in the oven and then she gently pulls her in for a hug. Olivia doesn’t resist, and Hannah holds her tighter as she returns the hug.

"Mom," Olivia says after a minute, "I love you, but my hands are _covered_ in cookie dough.”

"I don’t care." She laughs when Olivia flattens her palms against her back, and presses a kiss to the top of her head. "I love you, too."


End file.
